


Sinful Desires

by oratorio



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape Fantasy, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 12:31:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oratorio/pseuds/oratorio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris has never had a consensual relationship and his fantasies all involve taking a certain mage by force.  He is distressed and upset by this and feels he is a monster just like his former master.  Anders understands and helps him to live out his fantasy, then shows him that love doesn't always have to be rough.  Trigger warning from the beginning for rape and sexual assault, historical/current fantasies/roleplay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sinful Desires

**Author's Note:**

> All characters and environments belong to Bioware as always. Written for a kmeme prompt, be aware this is more explicit and violent than my other works but there is no explicit non-con acted out, everyone consents.

_Freak.  Ruined.  Abnormal._

 

This was the third night in a row he had not slept.  Ever since the night he had dreamed of Anders and woken up painfully aroused and throbbing against the sheets.  Now every time Fenris closed his eyes, he would start to picture the mage.

 

Running desperately, gasping with the effort of escape, stumbling and sweating.

Pushed up against the wall, his robes bunched around his waist, sobbing and squirming against the muscular arms that held him.

Held down on his hands and knees, fingernails scrabbling frantically in the dirt of Darktown.

Crouched in the corner of his clinic, a blade at his throat, fumbling at his clothes, eyes wide with terror.

Shackled to a crude metal cot, ropes around his ankles and wrists, tears streaming down his cheeks.

In every scenario, the words  _No.  Stop.  Don’t.  Please._

 

Words all too familiar to Fenris, words that reminded him of the years he spent by his master’s side.  Words that sent an instant spark of desire racing through his body, a feeling that would not leave him until he desperately took himself in hand, eyes screwed shut and cursing as he came.

He could no more stop his thoughts than he could erase his lyrium markings.  Was he no better than his master, corrupted and dangerous?  Would he do the things that Danarius had done?

They were due to leave for the Deep Roads in days.  Weeks of travelling, through forests and fields and far underground, through deserted caverns which hadn’t seen untainted life for decades.  Hawke had asked him to come, of course.  He was the most graceful, deadly warrior of them all – terrible in his lethality.  But he was afraid, though not of Darkspawn or other dangers.  He was afraid of himself, whether he could keep control of his sinful desires.

 

* * *

 

He was in the Hanged Man that night; they all were.  Hawke and Varric were going through the plans for the expedition.  Fenris tried hard to listen but kept finding his eyes drawn to the red-blond hair and intent amber gaze of the mage.

Too much.  It was too much.  Every time Anders spoke, Fenris would imagine how his voice would sound if he was pleading, begging Fenris not to.  Not to touch.  Not to kiss.  Not to _take._

Fenris got up suddenly, his chair tipping and crashing to the floor.

“I am not feeling well.  I will speak to you tomorrow, Hawke,” he said, hoping that the pained expression on his face would be interpreted as sickness of the physical kind, rather than the emotional poison running through him.

He hurried back to his old, run-down mansion, barely making it through the door before collapsing to the floor and pulling at his breeches, already hard and needing his release. 

He felt the roar of blood pulsing in his ears as he kneaded his shaft roughly, pain and pleasure mingling as he imagined how it would feel to be inside the mage, to feel him clench around his cock, to measure his thrusts in time with the sobs flowing from the other man’s mouth.  It did not take him long to peak, waves of pleasure rolling through his body quickly followed by the crashing weight of shame.

The door creaked open as he searched for a cloth to clean himself up.

"Fenris? Are you here?"

Fenris froze at the unmistakeable soft tones of the one person he did not want to see at that moment.

"Go away!" he shouted, a sharp edge of panic in his voice.

"I've just come to see how you are," Anders said from the doorway, confusion knitting his brow at the sight of Fenris pacing wildly, clutching at himself as if trying to hold back an army of demons.  "You said you were ill. I might be able to help with that."

"No. You cannot. You need to leave," Fenris shook his head violently, eyes fixed to the floor.

"Something's wrong." The mage stepped forward, reaching out to take the elf’s arm.  
  
“I said leave!” Fenris’ entire face was crumpled with the effort to control himself, his lyrium flaring blue at the mage’s touch. Anders took a step backwards, startled.  
  
“I am sorry to have bothered you, elf. I was only trying to help.”  
  
“Well, don’t. Just go. And _don’t come back_.” Fenris blinked furiously, his whole body trembling and shining with the light of his anger.  
  
The healer backed away, eyes wide in confusion and fear, before turning and disappearing back into the streets of Hightown.  
  
Fenris exhaled and sank into a chair. He had come close – so close to just grabbing the mage and tearing at his clothes, so close to wrestling him to the floor and biting at his skin as he…  
  
 _No_. He had to stop this. It was like a sickness, eating away at him. No doubt something else that Danarius had gifted him. He was created from violence for violence, and it was no surprise that violence was all he could think of. It was no surprise that most people crossed the street to avoid him.  
  
Except Anders. Anders had never been afraid of him, at least until tonight. Rather, they had had many arguments about magic and slavery. Fenris had not met anyone in Kirkwall who was prepared to argue with him, not once they had seen what he could do with his brands. Anders had been different.  
  
Had been. Fenris had seen the look on his face tonight as his markings had lit up, as he had taken steps towards the mage with a hand outstretched. Anders had looked vulnerable for the first time, scared. Fenris sighed. It was probably for the best. Perhaps Anders would avoid him now, keep himself out of harm’s way. Maybe then this unnatural lust would subside and he could get back to normal, whatever that was.  
  
He sighed and settled down for another sleepless night in front of the fire.

 

* * *

 

“I won’t let you take first watch again, Fenris. You need to sleep, you look exhausted.” Hawke looked sternly at the elf, who had planted himself next to the campfire with his sword beside him.  
  
“I cannot sleep, Hawke. I may as well sit here and make myself useful while you get some rest.”  
  
“You won’t be much good to us if you aren’t alert for danger. You’re too tired,” Hawke said, frowning.  
  
“I am fine.” Fenris was insistent. He had no desire to spend the night cooped up in sweaty canvas, sensitive ears straining to pick up any sound of movement from the tent next to his.  
  
“We will be in the Deep Roads this time tomorrow. We will all need you to be at full strength. You know you’re our best fighter.”  
  
Fenris sighed. “There is no problem, Hawke. I can fight as well as ever, trust me. Unless you would prefer me to prove it to you?”  
  
Hawke raised his hands. “No, no need for that. I won’t have you out here alone, though. Anders?”  
  
The mage had been chopping root vegetables for tomorrow night’s stew, but stopped and raised his head.  
  
“You’re on first watch with Broody here,” Hawke said, “no arguments.”  
  
Anything Anders might have said in response was drowned out by the bellow of anger that came from Fenris’ mouth. He was on his feet, waving a finger in Hawke’s face.  
  
“I will not! I am capable of standing watch by myself. I do not need some magic fool babysitting me.”

“Maker!” Hawke rolled his eyes. “Fine. If we all get eaten by bears, it will be your fault.”  
  
Shortly after, most of the expedition retired to their bedrolls, leaving the elf staring angrily into the flames.  
  
Anders lay on his belly, one eye peering out through the opening of his tent, watching the elf thoughtfully. Something was up with Fenris, and he did not know what. He hoped that, whatever it was, he worked through it soon as his moods were bringing the whole party down. It had been Varric who had nicknamed him Broody, which fitted him well as he was aloof and difficult at the best of times. But this – this was something else. The elf hadn’t been his usual self since that night at the Hanged Man.  
  
He yawned. Fenris had been clear he had not wanted company tonight, so he may as well get some sleep. As he drifted into the Fade, he swore that he would find out what was plaguing the elf and why he had become so snappy and angry lately.

 

* * *

 

The Deep Roads were everything Fenris had imagined them to be. Cold, dark and smelling of spider ichor and damp. How anyone managed to find their way around here, even with a map, he was not sure. He entertained vague ideas of them all becoming hopelessly lost in the gloom and starving to death for the sake of coin.  
  
Anders travelled at the head of their small group of explorers as he had the map and a means to light the way, albeit with a weak and sickly yellow glow from his staff. That meant Fenris had to walk at the rear, in near darkness. He hated the dark, which reminded him too much of some of the punishments his master had meted out in the past. He constantly felt prickles down his spine, as if spiders were crawling on his skin. Still, he would rather that unpleasantness than have to stand an inch closer to the mage. The way his hair was highlighted by the pale radiance of his magic, the way his eyes sparkled when the light played over his face, the way he smiled as he shared a joke with Hawke… even at a distance, Fenris felt himself growing hard in his breeches.  
  
Stopping to sleep was a trial in itself. There was no way he could safely lay apart from the others and he was painfully aware of the mage’s proximity, could even hear his soft snores. More images played through his mind like a warped storybook.  
  
 _He pins the man against the bedroll, one hand clamped over his mouth, ignoring the terror in his amber eyes. Hissing at him to be quiet unless he wants to lose his heart. Feeling the man’s warm breath against his fingers, smelling the sour tang of fear in his nostrils. The soft cloth of robes, the cold sharp edges of buckles, the sound of the fabric tearing as he pulls at it roughly. The pale, freckled skin underneath, lightly dusted with golden hair. The way that skin bruises almost instantly as teeth clamp, bite, suckle. The taste of sweat, sharp and bitter against his tongue. The soft whimpers and the wetness of tears. The tightness of muscle as one finger quests, dry and hot. The exquisite agony of moving inside him as the body tries to reject, to expel. The desperate writhing movements of the man beneath him, sobbing in fear and pain, torn between fighting and submission. The intensity of his orgasm, rippling through his entire body as he comes with beautiful ferocity, filling the man with his seed. Vision failing, white then black, lights dancing behind his eyelids…_  
  
Fenris sat up with a gasp, tears on his cheeks and a stickiness in his breeches which immediately brought the dream back in graphic detail. He wiped his arm roughly across his eyes and shook his head to try to clear his mind of the memory of the nightmare. It had been so real. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed quietly.  
  
“Fenris?”  
  
The sound of his name whispered in the dark electrified the elf, his body tensing with shock as he tried to identify where the voice had come from. A faint spark of white light in the dark illuminated a pair of concerned eyes peering through a curtain of red-gold hair. Fenris hissed and shoved his back against the rock, trying to disappear into the shadows.

 

“Fenris, I know you’re awake. I heard you crying,” Anders said softly, an anxious note in his voice.  
  
Fenris felt his skin bristle, humiliation settling over him like a cloak. “I am not crying. It is the cold and damp. It does not agree with me.”  
  
“Fenris.” There was a knowing tone in Anders’ voice that set the elf’s teeth on edge.  
  
“Have you not learned by now to leave me alone?” Fenris’ voice was strained, cracking with emotion.  
  
“I have learned that there is something upsetting you,” Anders said, patiently. “I would very much like to know what it is.”  
  
“It is none of your business, mage.”  
  
“Look,” Anders said, “we both know that the two of us aren’t friends. Probably never will be. But I respect you, as a warrior and as a person. You’re a cantankerous sod -”  
  
“Pfaugh!” Fenris really didn’t want to hear any more. Would the man respect him if he only knew what went through his mind, the things he wanted to do to him?  
  
“Come on, you _are_ ,” Anders said, almost fondly. “But this, the last few days… this behaviour, it’s not like you. Something is troubling you. And I care enough to want to help, if I can.”  
  
“Trust me, you cannot.”  
  
The mage was suddenly next to him, looking deep into his eyes. “Try me.”  
  
Fenris tensed, shut his eyes.  
  
“Don’t come any closer. It isn’t safe.”  
  
Anders looked confused. “What? What do you mean?”  
  
“I mean _it isn’t safe_ ,” Fenris repeated, spitting the words from his tongue like poison. “ _I_ am not safe.”  
  
“Is there something wrong with you? I can check you over, I’ve not yet come across a disease I can’t heal.”  
  
Fenris chuckled harshly. “There’s not much you can do about this one.”  
  
“You know what it is?” Anders pressed him, desperately trying to understand the cause of Fenris’ tears, his vitriol.  
  
“It’s a disease of the mind, mage. I am twisted, broken. This is not something that can be cured,” Fenris said, bitterly. “It is who I am, how I was created – an aberration. Now leave me alone, before I do something we will both regret.”  
  
Anders gazed at Fenris as the man’s olive green eyes shuttered and he turned away. With a sigh he returned to his bedroll, though sleep eluded him for the remainder of the night. He couldn’t stop thinking about Fenris’ words. Broken. Aberration. Was that really how he saw himself? He had thought the elf was tough, strong physically and emotionally. Just what had he endured in his past to bring him to tears here in the darkness?

 

* * *

 

Days and nights merged into one; it was impossible to keep track of time so far underground in the dark, dank tunnels of the Deep Roads.  The hours were not kind to Fenris, and the tension in his body from being so close to Anders was becoming painful.  He ached all over.  He knew that Hawke and the dwarfs were the only reason he had not given in to his depraved urges.  Were it not for their presence he felt sure he would have defiled the mage by now, if only to relieve the constant pressure in his head, in his groin.

They were all bored and tired of the expedition.  There had been no sign of any treasure, and the only thing to keep them focused was the occasional attack from a darkspawn patrol or the giant spiders which seemed to thrive in the depths.  They almost welcomed the fighting, just for something to do.

Everyone noticed how Fenris fought.  Always a strong warrior, he was merciless and magnificent in his wild rage, pouring all his anxiety into every swing of his blade.  No enemy would stand a chance against him in this frame of mind.

Fenris knew Anders had been surreptitiously watching him.  Often he had caught the mage looking swiftly away, pretending he had not been looking at him.  Fenris was not fooled.  He knew Anders was curious about his dark moods, his tears, his incandescent fury in battle.  It only added to his fear that – despite the warnings he had given him - one day the mage would corner him, would press him to reveal the truth.  He honestly did not know what he would do in such a situation.  It was hard enough to keep control with others around – he had taken to pinching his skin hard enough to bruise, to create a distraction.  Alone with Anders… he didn’t think he would stand a chance.

 

Then everything changed, the day they discovered the rare red lyrium idol on an altar in the middle of an abandoned thaig.  None of them had seen the avaricious greed in Bartrand’s eyes, not until it was too late.  They were betrayed and the way out of the Deep Roads closed behind them with the clang of a huge steel door.  Anders – who had until then been calm and confident in the bleak caverns – instantly began to panic.  Wild-eyed and terrified, he raved for some minutes before Hawke managed to calm him.  Even then, he curled himself into a ball in the corner, rocking and shivering, and would not move.

 

“Bad memories of the Circle,” Hawke told the others.  “Look, I’m going to try and find a way out of here.  Varric, I know you’re a surfacer these days but you know the Stone.  You will come with me.  Fenris, you stay here and keep an eye on Anders.”

“No, I will not,” Fenris said, panic in his own voice now.  “I will go with the dwarf and you can stay.”

 

_Standing over Anders’ trembling body, he took his cock in his hand and began to stroke…_

 

“Fenris, you’re the best fighter we have.  Anders is vulnerable, and I can’t leave him on his own.  You’re by far the best person to stand guard.  I promise we will be back as soon as we find out where the tunnel out of here leads.”

“I… can’t,” Fenris shook his head, curling his hands into fists and digging his nails into his palms.  “I just can’t.  I won’t stay.”

 

_He was fully erect now, twitching with desire, a bead of liquid leaking from the tip and slicking against the palm of his hand as he continued to rub…_

 

“Fenris,” Hawke said, calmly, “I know I usually listen to you and make allowances, but really you need to see my point of view here.”

Fenris was shaking, but he did not know if it was anger or fear.  Probably a combination of both, he thought.  “No, Hawke, you need to see mine.  I cannot stay here.”

 

_With a cry he came violently, ropes of creamy fluid spurting from his cock and tangling in the mage’s golden hair, dripping on to his skin._

 

“But Fenris, I see no reason that you can’t.  You’re being unreasonable.”

“I am not…”  Fenris’ voice cracked, his head hung low.  “Just go.”

“Good.  Glad you understand,” Hawke smiled.  “Come on, Varric – I promise we will be as quick as we can.”

Fenris nodded tightly and watched the two men depart through the door in the rear wall of the thaig.

 

* * *

 

“ _Fasta vass!”_ Fenris paced wildly across the room, tearing at his hair.  Anders still lay curled in a ball in a corner behind the altar.  He appeared to be almost catatonic.

Fenris felt as if he had blacked out himself.  Before he knew it he was at the mage’s side.  He crouched beside him, one hand hovering over the man’s waist, the slight curve of his hip beneath the robes.  Anders was silent and still.  It was as if he was sleeping.

Fenris could hear the rasp of his own breath loud in his ears as he touched one finger to the back of Anders’ neck.  The man’s skin was soft and warm, and his hair tickled against Fenris’ fingers.  He did not stir.

Groaning, Fenris pressed one hand against his erection, straining against his breeches.  He rubbed against the leather roughly as his other hand began to tug at the hem of the mage’s robes, revealing pale, thin legs bent at the knee, taut thighs covered in soft blond hair.  Grubby smallclothes moulded over rounded buttocks, concave stomach…

 _Venhedis_ , what was he doing?  He couldn’t stop.

Lust bubbled in the pit of his stomach as he gazed at the mage, half-uncovered and defenceless.  Perhaps he could just touch himself, maybe that would be enough.  Maybe Anders would never know.

He glanced at the line of hair running down Anders’ belly into his smallclothes and swallowed hard.  No.  It would not be enough.  He needed to… oh, Maker.  His hand snaked out, began to travel up the length of the man’s exposed thigh.

Streaks of blue began to appear on Anders’ face, as if the skin itself was cracking and there was nothing but topaz light beneath.  Fenris gasped and pulled back his hand as if it was burning.

Anders sat up suddenly.  No, not Anders, Fenris thought.  This was the demon, this was Justice.  The significance of this particular spirit suddenly struck Fenris and he froze, inwardly cursing himself for his weakness.

Justice spoke in a booming baritone very different to Anders’ usual voice.

“YOU WOULD TOUCH THIS MAN WITHOUT PERMISSION.”

“I… I am sorry,” Fenris said, eyes cast down.  He deserved whatever punishment was going to be meted out.

“THIS IS NOT RIGHT.  THIS REQUIRES JUSTICE.  YOU WILL PAY.”

Fenris bowed his head and sank to the floor.  “I will accept justice,” he said, sadly.  He had wanted only his freedom, but he had come to realise that he would never be truly free.  Never free of the evil that had been moulded into his body, never free of the wicked desires that corrupted him.  He was as much an abomination as the mage.  Perhaps death could bring the only peace he would ever have.

He saw the mage rise and straighten his robes, watched his feet as he walked purposely toward him.  He closed his eyes.  There was silence.

“F… Fenris?”

Fenris’ eyes flew open and he looked up to see Anders standing over him, bewildered and shaky.  The fire of Justice was gone, his eyes once more a warm amber, his skin unmarked and pale.

“What just happened?  Why are you on the floor?”  Anders rubbed his temples and groaned.  “Maker, my head hurts.  Where is everyone?”

Fenris was unable to speak, trembling with relief at being spared and horror at what he had nearly done.

“Fenris?  What’s the matter?”  Anders abruptly sat down beside him.  “Why are you shaking?”

“You ask too many questions,” Fenris muttered, surly in his shame.

“And you don’t give enough answers,” Anders said, trying to smile.

“You are better off not knowing.”

Anders ran a hand through his hair and regarded the elf carefully.  “I don’t think that’s true.  I think it’s about time you told me what’s going on here, Fenris.”

 

 

Fenris sighed.  Perhaps this would be the justice the demon sought – that Anders received an explanation.  Perhaps that would be the payback for all the twisted thoughts about the mage that Fenris had had.  His cheeks burned with shame and humiliation at the thought of sharing his vile fantasies, and he felt nauseous when he considered his life from now on.  He had once thought he might have found companionship if not friendship with this group of people, but surely after this he would be on his own once more.

Anders sat patiently, waiting for Fenris to speak.

“Bartrand shut us in.  You, well, you panicked.  Hawke and Varric went to find the way out and left me to look after you,” he began, voice faltering.  This part was easy enough, but he had no idea how he was going to tell Anders what he had done.  How he had looked at him, touched him, when he was meant to be guarding him.

And Maker, if there wasn’t still a part of him that wanted to grab the mage by the hair even now, even after the terrible shock that the demon had given him.

Anders didn’t speak, his gaze still fixed on the elf, waiting for him to continue.

“I…” Fenris began, stopped, swallowed.  “I don’t know how to tell you.”

“It’s okay, Fenris,” Anders said, “I’m not going to fireball you.”

Anders expected a fierce response from the elf, but instead he looked at the floor, wringing his hands.

“I touched you.”  His voice was small, feeble.

“You… what do you mean?”

“I mean,”  Fenris got to his feet, trying to put distance between himself and Anders, “I mean that there’s something wrong with me.”

Anders shook his head.  “Wait, you touched me because there’s something wrong with you?  I’m not sure what you mean, unless…”

Fenris puffed out a harsh breath and pointedly turned away from the other man.  He didn’t want to see the expression on Anders’ face when he realised just what he had done.  Disappointment, anger, disgust.  He couldn’t deal with any of those emotions coming from someone else.  He had enough trouble coping with feeling that way about himself.

He heard Anders inhale sharply and tensed, waiting for the inevitable outburst.

“Is this why you don’t want me anywhere near you?”

Anders’ tone was surprisingly tender.  Fenris heard the rustle of robes behind him, felt the light touch of a hand on his shoulder.

“I can’t help it,” he said, brokenly.  “It plagues me.  It’s all I want to do… I can’t stop thinking of you, of hurting you.”

“Is that what you really want to do?”  Anders sounded concerned, but for Fenris rather than himself.

“No.  Not really,”  Fenris said, “but I keep dreaming, keep thinking of… of forcing you.  The things I imagine, the things I do in my mind… I am abnormal, mage.”

“But you did stop.”

“Only because of Justice.  If it were not for the demon, I… I might have…”  Fenris shuddered.

Anders decided now was not the time to argue about Justice.

“But you did not.  And still you torture yourself so.  Fenris,” Anders sighed, steeling himself to ask a difficult question, “have you ever been loved?  I mean, have you ever made love to someone, someone who cared for you?”

Fenris hunched his shoulders, kicking at the floor feebly.  “No.”

Anders looked pained.  “Will you tell me… will you tell me if you have ever been, ah, hurt?  In that way.”

There was a heavy silence.

“It felt like punishment.  I was obedient.  I don’t know why he did it.”  Fenris spoke so quietly Anders could barely hear him, his voice husky with unshed tears.

“Oh, Fenris.”  Anders shook his head sadly.  Everything was starting to make sense.

Fenris chuckled, a harsh and bitter sound.  “Do not pity me.  I am not worth your pity.  I am a monster.”

“No, you are not.  Look at me, Fenris,”  Anders said, raising a hand to the elf’s cheek.  Fenris reluctantly turned and looked him in the eye.

“How can you bear to be near me?  Do you not fear me?”  Fenris said, his face flushed and hot.

“I do not fear you, Fenris,” Anders said, “and I do not pity you.  You think you are abnormal, but you are not.  You’re just conforming to the idea of normal that you’ve been taught.  And, do you know something?”

Fenris snorted.

Anders looked at his morose expression and ploughed on.  “You’re not the only one who has these thoughts.  Lots of people enjoy the idea of forcing, of dominating.  I know you, and I know you don’t really want to hurt me.  Tell me I’m wrong, and I will leave you alone.”

Fenris sighed.  “You are not wrong.  I have no real wish to hurt you.  It would be the most shameful thing I could do.”

“Listen,” the mage said, “I have a suggestion.  Promise to hear me out?”

“I suppose that is the least I can do.”

“I respect you, Fenris, and I have to admit I am attracted to you.  The Void with it, you’re the most handsome elf I have ever met,” Anders blushed, “so if it will help you deal with the way you feel about yourself, I’d like to submit to you.  Willingly.”

“What are you saying, mage?”

“Maker, do I need to spell it out?”  Anders chuckled.  “I’m saying that I want you to do whatever it is that you are imagining, and I will yield to you.  I have two rules.”

Fenris felt faint.  “And they are?” he managed to blurt out.

“One.  If at any point I am not happy and want to stop, I will say the word ‘mabari’.  If you hear that word, and only that word, you stop.  If you don’t think you can, then I’m sorry but I can’t do this.”

Fenris nodded.  It would be a challenge, but he understood.

“Two.  Once we have done this, I want you to let me show you what it is like to have someone cherish you.  To make love to you gently.  To prove to you that it does not always have to be rough.”

Fenris looked up into Anders face and saw the mage smiling down at him, the most affectionate and genuine smile he thought he had ever seen.  He felt tears choking his throat, prickling at the corners of his eyes.

“Yes.”

It was the only word he had, but it was enough.  Anders pulled him into a hug, just as Hawke and Varric tumbled through the door, full of excitement about the treasure they had found and the tunnel that led back to the surface.

 

* * *

 

Weeks passed.  Safely back in Kirkwall, Fenris busied himself helping Hawke to move his family back into their old Hightown estate, which he had purchased using the proceeds from the sale of the gems and precious metal they had found in the caverns.  Fenris still thought every day of what had happened on the expedition, the promise the mage had made.

“After nightfall, come to my clinic.  Whichever day you choose, I will be waiting,” Anders had whispered to him as they had reached the city gates, weary from their long and arduous trek.  Every evening since their return he had set out for Darktown, only to hesitate on the way and turn back.  He wanted nothing more than to give in to the demands his body was making, but something stopped him each time.

Right up until the night he joined Varric, Hawke and Isabela for a round of Wicked Grace at the Hanged Man.

“So, Broody,”  Varric grinned at him, “I thought you’d be spending more time with our resident healer these days.  You seemed to be getting rather friendly during our little expedition.”

“Ooh, do tell,” Isabela clapped her hands, delighted at the prospect of some juicy gossip.

“It is none of your business,” Fenris said, angrily.

“Touchy!”  Isabela said. “You know, I think we’ve hit upon a rather sore subject, my dear dwarf.”

Hawke laughed.  “You don’t know the half of it.  Left these two alone for, hmm, about an hour, and when we get back they’re all over each other.  I blame Fenris completely for the fact Anders has spent the last three weeks mooning about his clinic refusing to join any of our card nights.  Cost me good coin, that has!” 

Fenris was thunderstruck.  The mage had kept his promise.  He had waited for him to visit.  Could it be that he really did want…

“I’ve had enough of this,” Fenris threw his cards down.  “I’ll come back some other night when you can think of something more interesting to talk about.”

“More interesting than your love life?”  Isabela grinned.  “I can’t think of a single thing.”

Fenris ignored her, knocking his chair over in his haste to get up.  He turned and hurried out of the inn, heading straight for Darktown.

 

* * *

 

It was late.  The lantern was off, the clinic shut.  He braced himself and shoved his way through the doors.

“Who’s there?”  Anders voice carried through from his quarters at the back of the clinic, wavering slightly with fear.

Fenris crossed the floor of the clinic in long, silent strides, reaching the door to the mage’s private rooms at the same time as it opened, Anders standing in the doorway dressed only in a tunic and loose linen breeches.  His sleeping clothes.  Fenris felt his breath stop in his throat.

“What are you -”  Anders began, before Fenris pushed him roughly against the wall, his hands on the mage’s shoulders, driving the breath from his body.  He leaned his weight against the man to hold him in place, his leg between Anders’ thighs, elbows against his chest.  He bent his head to the soft skin of the mage’s neck, biting hard and bringing pinpricks of blood to the surface in an instantly darkening bruise.

“I have marked you.  You are mine,” Fenris hissed before beginning to tear at the other man’s clothes.  Anders wriggled beneath him, making delectable whimpering noises which shot straight to Fenris’ groin.  He felt himself harden almost painfully, the leather of his breeches chafing against his shaft.  He lowered one hand to free himself, his other hand fisting in the mage’s hair, twisting the golden strands around his fingers and pulling hard.

“Get on your knees, mage.”  Fenris pushed against Anders’ head, forcing him on to the floor.

“Please… don’t do this.  I don’t want to,”  Anders sobbed feebly.

“Shut up!”  Fenris pushed his aching cock against the mage’s lips and thrust roughly into his mouth, causing the man to choke and cough, tears streaming down his cheeks.  Fingers tangled in hair, hands tight against soft cheeks, the wetness of Anders’ tears trickling over his palms, the moist warmth of the mage’s tongue rasping against his shaft.  Fenris moved the man’s head forcibly and snapped his hips against Anders’ face as he frantically sucked, gasping and sobbing.

Fenris felt himself twitch inside Anders’ mouth and instantly pushed the mage backwards, kicking out at him and sending him sliding along the floor.

“Take off your clothes,” Fenris ordered, his voice hoarse with want.

A faint smile crossed Anders’ face, so quickly that it was barely noticeable, before he schooled his expression back into fear and began to remove his tunic with shaky fingers.

Fenris watched hungrily as the mage stood unsteadily and lifted the tunic over his head.  The fabric dropped loosely from feeble fingers, leaving his skin exposed, pebbling in the cold air of the clinic.  He was thinner than Fenris had expected, fair skin dappled with golden brown hairs across his chest.  Trembling hands unwound the knot of his breeches and they slipped down slender legs, pooling on the ground at Anders’ feet.  He held himself still, naked and quivering, his head hanging low and his arms wrapped tightly around his waist.  “Please,” he whispered, his voice blurry with tears.

Fenris sucked in a breath, feeling dizzy.  It was as if something almost akin to magic was singing within his body, his veins on fire, the lyrium in his markings glowing with the intensity of the desire racing through him.  With a snarl he lost the remnants of his self-control, grabbing Anders roughly by the wrists and pushing him down on to a nearby table, potions and bandages clattering to the floor in a chorus of smashing glass.

He forced the man’s thighs apart with one gauntleted hand, leaving small cuts on the pale white skin which instantly bloomed scarlet.  Anders yelped in distress, squirming away from his touch.  He slapped the mage across one cheek, breaking the skin once more, blood mingling with tears.  Anders froze and for a moment Fenris readied himself for the single-word command, but none came.  He bent his head and pulled a nipple between his teeth.

Anders moaned.  The sound provoked a spike of lust in Fenris, drawing a drop of fluid from his cock, which throbbed urgently with the need to be inside the mage.  Fenris stripped off his gauntlets and threw them to the floor, wanting to be able to feel the body beneath him.  He gripped Anders’ shaft roughly, tugging at the velveteen skin.  Fenris smiled as he heard the cry of pain that his crude handling elicited.  He thought back to his own past and imitated his master, spitting on to one finger and burying it deep inside Anders, feeling the involuntary clench of muscle tightening against him.

“No… stop,” Anders whined, breathlessly.  “It hurts.”

“You are _mine_ ,” Fenris growled, pushing forward and entering him with a single violent stroke.  Anders wailed and Fenris groaned as he felt the mage clamp around him.  He began to move inside Anders, feeling the sting of fingernails as the man fought him, scratching at his skin and writhing desperately.

“No… no…. no…” Anders wept as Fenris pounded into him, a contorted expression of pain and desire warring on his features.  His thrusts were erratic, brutal and inexpert, and he was already nearing his peak.  His hands were on the mage’s thighs, fingertips digging in and leaving crescent bruises on the delicate skin.

The tight heat and the unbearable friction were suddenly too much, and Fenris felt his entire body tauten as he came with a ferocious growl, biting down on Anders’ shoulder and collapsing across his chest.

It had been the most incredible feeling of his life.  He had been in control, had taken his pleasure, and the climax he had experienced was beyond anything he could have imagined.  He closed his eyes and sighed.

 

Fenris remained still for many minutes, breathing hard.  The iron of the armour he still wore dug uncomfortably into Anders’ skin as their bodies lay meshed together.  Finally he felt fingers pushing through his hair, the vibrations of Anders’ warm chuckle against his ear.  He slowly raised himself to stand on wobbly legs, looking down at the mage almost shyly.

“I take it you enjoyed that?”  Anders gazed at him with kind eyes, a smile on his face.

“More than I thought possible,” Fenris said, before looking away.  “Are you… are you OK?  Did I hurt you?”

“Nothing a little magic can’t put right,” Anders said, grinning.  “Although,” he poked at the bruises on his thighs, “I might keep these.  A secret reminder of my rendezvous with a beautiful elf.”

Fenris exhaled loudly.  “Beautiful, am I?”

Anders sat up and pressed a soft kiss against Fenris’ lips.

“You are.  And don’t think I am going to forget about your side of the bargain, either.”

 

* * *

 

Fenris lay in bed looking up at the broken ceiling of his run-down mansion, sunlight streaming through the cracks and shimmering silver in his hair.  He had woken up from a deep sleep the most relaxed he had felt in months.  Memories of the night before played through his mind and for the first time the images made him smile.

His muscles ached pleasantly as he stretched and got to his feet.  Hawke didn’t require his services today, for a change, so he had the day to himself.  He had agreed to allow the mage to visit tonight after he closed his clinic, so he began to clear away some of the rubble which littered the floor of his home.

The house was almost unrecognisable as the dirt-encrusted hovel it had been for many months when Anders finally walked through the door that night, raising his eyebrows as he took in the clean surfaces and freshly-washed floors.

“Will you have some wine?”  Fenris couldn’t quite meet Anders’ eye, still nervous around the mage even after the assurances he had given the night before.

“A small glass.  Justice does not appreciate it when I drink,” Anders said, wincing slightly as he noticed Fenris cringe at the mention of the spirit.

“And what does Justice think of you coming here?”  Fenris was suddenly dubious.

Anders laughed.  “Not much,” he said, honestly.  “He does not like anything that interferes with our purpose.  Fortunately I can control what I do with my life, and tonight I wish to be with you.”

“Your purpose?”  Fenris grimaced.

“Let’s not speak of that.  It isn’t important.  What’s important tonight is you,” Anders said, reaching out to drag his fingers through Fenris’ hair.  “I want to make you feel good.  Do you trust me?”

Fenris swallowed  _No,_ he wanted to say.  _You are everything I despise._ But that wasn’t true.  He realised, to his surprise, that he didn’t hate the mage at all.  And he considered how Anders had trusted him last night, despite the less than chivalrous behaviour he had exhibited in the past.

“Yes,” Fenris said, emphatically.

“Good.”  Anders leaned in and brushed his lips against Fenris’ mouth in a light kiss.  “Now, what about that wine?”

 

* * *

 

The bottle stood empty on the hearth and the men sat facing each other, the fire burning low, flames flickering and casting shadows on their skin.  They had spoken about inconsequential things- the new weapons on sale in Lowtown, how hot it was on the Wounded Coast, the man whose wrist Isabela had broken last week when he tried to grab at her in the Hanged Man.  Finally they had fallen silent, gazing into each other’s eyes.  Fenris felt his heart hammering in his chest as Anders slowly stretched out a hand to him.

“Shall we?”

Fenris stood on shaky legs and allowed Anders to steer him up the stairs.

 

The bedroom was simple and sparsely furnished but at least, after Fenris’ efforts today, it was clean.  Anders turned Fenris to face him, a serious expression on his face.

“I just need you to know something,” Anders said, stuttering slightly and for the first time losing his composure.  “I want to do this with you so badly that it aches.  But I need to know, is this something you really want?”

“Yes.”  Fenris nodded solemnly.

“We can stop at any time.  Just let me -”

Anders was interrupted by Fenris claiming his mouth in a passionate kiss.  It was clumsy and sloppy, revealing just how inexperienced the elf was in the more refined elements of lovemaking, but his enthusiasm and intensity more than made up for that, Anders thought as he lost himself in the feeling of lips and tongue probing and caressing.

Fenris moaned as Anders began to unbuckle his armour, letting the iron cuirass drop to the floor and picking at the ties on his breeches with elegant fingers.  Anders let out a rush of hot breath as the elf was uncovered and stood before him, clad only in his smallclothes.

“Maker, you are even more incredible than I had imagined,” he said, blushing as he realised the implications of his words.

“These don’t bother you then, mage?”  Fenris indicated the lines of his lyrium markings, curving over his muscles in a flowing freeform.

Anders tracked one finger along one delicately etched pattern, following the shape of Fenris’ waist.

“Bother me?  You are quite the most exquisite elf I have ever seen.  Not because of these,” he said, hurriedly, “but they highlight your strength, the power in your muscles, the leanness of your body.  You were created a warrior,” he pressed a kiss to the hard planes of his chest, “but you would always have been a beautiful man.”

Fenris drew in a sharp breath and closed his eyes.  He felt Anders move closer to him, felt the heat of the mage’s body almost touching his own as the man’s fingers pushed into the waistband of his smalls, dragging them from his hips.  He felt cool air prickle against his body as the garment fell to the floor around his feet, leaving him naked before Anders’ gaze.

Anders exhaled and shook his head in wonder.  “Maker.  Fenris.  You have no idea, do you?”

Fenris didn’t understand what Anders was talking about.  He frowned in confusion.  Anders leaned forward and whispered in his ear, making him shiver at the feel of the man’s hot breath tickling his sensitive skin.

_“I want to kiss you all over.”_

Fenris shuddered, feeling himself growing even harder at the mage’s words.  He nodded, unable to speak.  Anders gently pushed him down on to the bed, unbuckling his robes and sliding them off his shoulders before joining Fenris on the mattress.

They kissed for some minutes, gently at first – all soft lips and whispers – until the burning need began to overcome them and the kisses grew more insistent, more desperate.  Anders traced patterns across Fenris’ torso with his fingers, mirroring the lines of his markings without touching them.  Then he shifted lower to kiss where his fingers had been – muffled breaths against the elf’s neck, moist lips on his chest, a tongue across one nipple.  Fenris growled softly as Anders moved over his body, almost worshiping him, the mage letting out appreciative murmurs as he ran his mouth over every inch of exposed skin.

“Fenris, you are amazing,” Anders said breathily, eyes dark with desire.  Fenris sighed and squirmed in delicious anticipation as the mage hovered over his shaft, warm breath playing over his skin.  His fingers dug hard into the mattress as Anders ran his tongue hard along the underside of his cock before taking the tip into his mouth and suckling lightly.

Fenris’ back arched at the feel of Anders’ lips wrapped around him.  He tangled his fingers in the mage’s hair and groaned.  He had believed that the feelings that had raced through his body just last night had been the pinnacle of what was possible to experience, the best his body could ever give him.  Tonight, he began to think he may have been wrong. 

 

It took him some moments to realise that the guttural sounds he could hear were coming from his own mouth, a subconscious response to the overwhelming feelings that were shooting through his cock, through his entire body. 

He gazed down at the man between his thighs, golden hair loose and tickling the delicate skin of his groin.  Anders’ eyes sparkled with smiles and he was clearly revelling in the reactions he was pulling from the elf.  Fenris could feel the heat of the mage’s own erection against his calf.

“I… want you,” he managed to gasp, feeling a tightness in his groin, his expression strained as he struggled for control.

Anders pulled away and shimmied up his body so they lay face to face, Fenris’ lean body gripped between the mage’s thighs.  The feel of Anders pressing against him was almost unbearable and Fenris bucked his hips desperately, needing to be inside the other man.  Anders pushed back against him, holding him still against the mattress as their lips met once more.

“Is this OK?”   Anders whispered as he rose and sat back on his knees, positioning himself over the elf’s twitching cock.  Fenris nodded, biting his lip as he watched the man slowly sink down and guide the tip of his shaft into his body.  Anders shifted, wriggling his hips to find the angle, and then pushed back.  Fenris gasped as he felt himself slide deeper into the mage, all tight warmth and delicious friction.

Anders threw back his head and cried out as the elf filled him.  Cries of pleasure, this time, not distress.  Fenris understood the difference, and found to his relief that he was just as aroused and exhilarated by this closeness, this lovemaking, as he had been the previous night.

He raised his hands to touch the mage’s waist as Anders moved over him, stroking calloused palms against soft skin.  Looking into Anders’ eyes, he began to drag his fingers across the man’s stomach, tracing the line of golden hair down his belly.  Anders tautened, hissed softly as the elf’s fingertips brushed against his erection.  “Yes,” he panted, “please.”

Fenris ran one finger along the length of Anders’ cock, marvelling at the difference between the two men.  The colouring was different – Anders’ skin was paler but the head of his cock was a deeper colour, almost purple, whereas Fenris’ own manhood was a tanned brown from base to tip.  Anders was wider; Fenris longer.  Anders was hairy where Fenris was smooth.  Fenris thought the mage was magnetically attractive and couldn’t take his eyes off him.  The sight of his own cock disappearing into Anders’ body and the sensation of the man tightening around him was possibly the most unforgettable moment of his life.

Fenris wrapped his fingers around Anders’ cock and began to slide his hand across the hot velvet skin.  Anders murmured unintelligible words and closed his eyes, a shiver running through his body.

Slowly, sensually, Anders brought Fenris to the edge, moving his hips in a steady rhythm as Fenris touched him.  Fenris felt fluid against his fingers, beading on the mage’s cock as he neared his own release.  He began to feel a pressure in his groin, a tingling, prickling sensation.  Anders smiled down at him and mouthed one word – “beautiful” – and he felt himself come undone, arching his back and exploding within the mage with an intensity he had never before experienced.

He fell back against the bed, breathless and panting, helpless to do anything other than to watch Anders take himself in hand, bringing himself to his own wailing climax, spilling his seed across Fenris’ chest as he cried out the elf’s name.

 

Afterwards, they lay together in sticky sheets, drowsy and peaceful.

“So, was that…?”  Anders trailed off, unable to form the question he wanted to ask.

Fenris understood.  “It was wonderful, mage.  _Anders,_ ” he corrected himself, blushing.  “I never knew it could be like that.”

“Good,”  Anders said.  “That’s how I wanted it to be for you.  So tell me, has your curiosity been sated now, Fenris?”

Fenris gazed at Anders, noticing his expression, hopeful and wary all at once.

“I suppose it has,”  Fenris said, watching Anders’ face fall.  “However, it appears that you have started something that I fear will never be sated.”

Anders spoke hesitantly.  “Does that mean…?”

“It means that I would very much like to do this again,” Fenris said, smirking.  “That is, if you want to.”

Anders gave him the widest, sunniest smile he thought he had ever seen.


End file.
